To write you out on these pages, would be admitting that you’re gone. And I never wanted to say goodbye to you in poetry. Never wanted to leave traces of your absence between all these figures of speech.
I never wanted to wake up with sad poems as a substitute for your warm body, looking at all these pages instead of your beautiful brown eyes. You are the only poetry I’ve ever perfected writing, and I don’t know how to not read your absence between the lines.